


Partners

by theniftycat



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theniftycat/pseuds/theniftycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of their relationship as seen by me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in Russian by me and translated to English by me as well.

“Mr. Solo. I’ve got important news for you.” Mr. Waverly moved his pipe closer to his mouth but then moved it away again. “From now on you will work with a partner. He’s Russian. Mr. Kuryakin.”

Napoleon eyed his boss looking very surprised. He stopped spinning his pen in his hands and pouted slightly showing that this news is not all that pleasant for him.

“Mr. Waverly, I thought it was a chose jug. I’m used to working on my own, as you know.”

“I know. But the decisions like this are not up to you, Mr. Solo. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. The young man is a newcomer in this country. He studied in… Sorbonne and had his PhD in Cambridge. Don’t let him think we’re not hospitable.”

“PhD…” Napoleon nodded shortly. “I see. But our section deals with more than brainstorming.”

“Mr. Kuryakin is proficient in physical arts, judo, karate and fencing. Also, he’s a sharp shooter and speaks fluently five languages.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows looking unflinchingly at Mr. Waverly.

“Is there anything else I’ve got to know about my future partner?”

“He plays practically all music instruments and has deep knowledge of haute couture.

Solo smiled with corners of his mouth and looked down at the pen that was still in his hands.

"I wonder if you’ll still need me when this Mr. Kuryakin appears.”

“We’ll see, Mr. Solo. You may go now. I’ve got a lot of paper work.”


	2. Acquaintance

Napoleon parked his car before Del Floria’s tailor shot, got out of it and looked around. He couldn’t see any big guys with heavy eyebrows which meant he didn’t arrive at the same time as his new partner.

A Russian. He never worked with them closely before. He thought they were all huge men with blond hair, giant hands and bushy brows and they were a lot easier to be afraid of than respected. No, he had seen other Russians as well, but most of them were gloomy giants.

How old would he be then if he had accomplished that much? Must be not younger than forty. So, his partner who is supposed to be in junior position, will be older than he and a lot bigger physically. Hardly a good option. He’d prefer to see his hypothetical partner completely different if he must exist at all.

Sadly, he couldn’t stay outside any longer and had to enter the U.N.C.L.E. HQs. He said hello to Del Floria who was steaming somebody’s trousers as always, then came into the fitting room and pressed the knob on the left. The hidden door opened and Napoleon found himself in his so familiar secret building.

Sarah who worked in the parlor today smiled widely at him and purred him as she was adjusting his badge on his coat: “Mr. Waverly expects you. With your new partner.”

Her eyes shone up as she said “your new partner.” Napoleon playfully frowned and wagged a finger at her.

Corridors, elevators, automatic doors - all things left behind Solo entered his chief’s office. Mr. Waverly was sitting behind the control desk and beside him, his back to the door, stood the ‘new partner’. The only thing that Napoleon guessed right was the colour of his hair. Indeed he was blond. But not at all a giant. He was clearly shorter than Napoleon who himself was of medium height. He looked like a boy because of his constitution.

“Ahem,” attracted their attention Napoleon.

Both turned their heads. Mr. Kuryakin truly was a boy. He had big blue eyes and his face would be almost girl-like if it wouldn’t be opposed by his eyebrows. No, not bushy at all, but kind of heavy.

“Ah, Mr. Solo! This is Mr. Illya Kuryakin, your new partner.”

Mr. Illya Kuryakin crossed the room in few big steps and extended his hand for a handshake.

“Very pleased to meet you!” he said smiling gently.

Napoleon smiled in return.

“Pleased to meet you too. Napoleon Solo, as, I’m sure, you already know. Call me Napoleon.

"Yes, I know,” answered Illya with some kind of hidden joy that was seen in his bright eyes but didn’t reflect in the rest of his face, “Call me Illya.”


	3. Plans for the Evening

It seemed that his first day in U.N.C.L.E. New York lasted a week as it was so intense. The excursion around the building guided by a young girl in uniform took about an hour; another hour he spent recieving instructions on usage of special equipment; its obtainment and registration took an hour and a half. In the lunch time he was escorted to the canteen by Mr. Waverly himself and Illya started to get to know his new coworkers. There were surprisingly many girls: assistants, secretaries, technicians… There were few agents amongst them and Illya thought they were all too complicated personas who were not easy to come near to. Well, and he didn’t really want to. Though maybe he was mistaken and behind their smiles was not only their good breeding. But he didn’t think about it.

After this very long lunch-break that lasted long after its time because even as people stopped eating and started working they still did everything to continue talking to him, Illya was allowed to the archives where he could read any information he needed except for the top secret.

He stayed there untill Wanda who worked at the archives blushing and trying to hide her smile for some reason told him that his superior is waiting for him. Illya took off his glasses, removed the documents he was reading and went out to the corridor where with his back against the wall in quite a relaxed manner stood Mr. Solo.

“Superior?” narrowed his eyes Illya as he approached his partner at two feet distance. He hoped Napoleon would joke back, otherwise they will never make a good team.

Napoleon eyed him seriously, took his right hand out of his pocket and rubbed his nose.

“We can interchange,” he said and smiled.

Illya smiled back.

“So…” started Napoleon moving away from the wall, “Would you like to have some rest from your work and spend an evening in a pleasant place?”

Illya blinked in surprise.

“There is a nice club nearby with good music. It’s perfect for very important,” Solo winked, “and serious conversations.”

Getting to know each other better! Great! Illya remembered that he didn’t see Napoleon during the day, but now they at last could talk and that was what they needed. Illya patted his partner’s shoulder and they headed towards the exit.


	4. The first evening

The club was crowded and full of cigarettes' smoke. Illya didn't smoke and wasn't accustomed to visiting places like this, so, at the moment he wasn't too comfortable. The manager who clearly recognised Napoleon was standing before them stretched in such a manner that he looked two inches taller than he actually was.

"Can we have a private room, please?" Illya interrupted the exchange of niceties between the manager and his regular customer. Napoleon glanced him with surprised expression and then looked at the hall.

"Yes," said he between his teeth. "It might work this time," said he slowly absently looking somewhere.

Illya followed the direction of his glance and saw a trio of young girls who as it seemed came here not too long ago as they were still alone.

The manager led the two men to a private room that was as noisy as the hall but not as stinking of cigarettes. As they walked Napoleon still was eyeing girls and Illya looked at him without understanding. They came here to talk and discuss quite possibly very important subjects but not to spend time with some strange hussies.

"What would you like to drink?" asked the waiter who came to them when they sat down.

"The usual," said Napoleon without a second thought.

"Same as he," almost as rapidly said Illya. The waiter took their order raising his right eyebrow and went away. 

When they were left alone Napoleon asked slightly surprised: "But don't you have any preferances?"

"No, I drink everything."

Napoleon half smiled.

"We need to get to know each other and learn to trust. So, I want to know what the 'usual' is," said Illya.

"Excellent," replied Napoleon, "And what's next? We're going to play truth or dare?"

"Good idea," said Illya calmly, "But with no 'dare'."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows.

"And who will start then?"

"If you ask me, then me."

Napoleon frowned not expecting such a rush, but then quickly put on his calm and relaxed look again.

"So, how many girlfriends did you have?" asked Illya coldly.

"I don't think that more than a hundred," fenced Napoleon. "Around... sixty or eighty. And you?"

"It's stated in my file."

"I haven't read it yet, you must answer," said Napoleon slowly and clearly.

"Why? Your answer was with inaccuracy around twenty! I'll answer: from two to twenty two."

"Three."

"No."

"Four."

"Alright, it's my turn!" Illya put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. He didn't know what else to ask, but then an idea stroke him. "Blondes or brunettes?"

Napoleon smiled with content.

"Any woman is beautiful. But even more so if she has platinum curls." He raised his brows dreamily. "Who was the hero of your childhood?

"Chapayev." Illya suddenly frowned. "And yours?"

"Errol Flynn. So, who is this Tchapayev?"

"And who is Errol Flynn?"


	5. Out of the closet

"Give me your hand!"

Illya opened his eyes and immediately saw Napoleon's hand stretching towards him. It was his left hand with a ring on its little finger, gentlemen's practice. Illya abruptly put out his right hand and tightly grabbed his partner's wrist.

In a second Illya fell out of the closet and was on the floor. Napoleon held him with his left hand and helped him to get up. Illya recovered his balance with effort and now he was standing on his legs leaning on Napoleon and trying to find the focus.

They were in an expensive suite of some hotel, in a living room. On a sofa there lay a young woman in a blue dress, she wasn't moving, on the floor lay two men in suits. Napoleon held a Thrush rifle in his right hand and looked closely at Illya.

"How are you, regained your feelings? It's clear in here now. We may leave."

Illya tried to make a step, but only nearly lost his balance.

"I think I need a moment of rest..."

Napoleon's brows gathered.

"So, they gave you not what I thought. It must be CF1, it will work an hour more."

Solo had to make a decision. He had two options: let Illya to rest for an hour or carry him out in his arms or otherwise. The hotel was safe now, because the Thrush agents had no chance to send a message about their extinction. That's why Napoleon sighed, left the rifle by the closet, shouldered Illya and led him to the bedroom. In there he carefully placed Illya on the bed and sat down beside him. Illya closed his eyes and, as it seemed, fell asleep. Napoleon had to wait for about an hour and he had to occupy himself with something for the time. He went out to the hallway and double-locked the entrance, then, after some consideration, he also barricaded the door with a small sofa that had been standing in the corner, now he was certain that nobody could enter the suite. Although there was basically no one to be afraid of. This and the two nearest floors were empty, U.N.C.L.E. took care of it before the operation, and the hotel servants were accustomed to hearing any kind of noises coming from the suite previously occupied by Thrush. Nobody could come.

Napoleon went back to the bedroom. He freshened up himself before a mirror, combed his hair that was a bit stray, fixed his tie and tucked in his shirt. He still had a lot of time to kill. He went out to the living room, contacted Mr. Waverly on channel D and reported his status. Then he briefly inspected the bodies, didn't find anything special, sat in an armchair, glanced through a magazine that he found on a coffee table. Twenty more minutes... The view from the window was nothing terrific. Idleness wore him down. Napoleon went back to the bedroom.

It was very unusual seeing Illya so calm and relaxed. Normally, he was quite tense and almost scowl, always ready for action. But at the moment there was only a trace of his stubborness in the line of his mouth. Strange how it is visible on faces of sleeping people. Some people look like children when they are asleep, they seem naive and fragile, and others even in their sleep stay fighters. Napoleon always prefered women of the second type. They were more interesting both as persons and as lovers. Illya surely was very interesting as a person.

Napoleon chuckled. One can have very funny thoughts at the end of a long day. He placed a chair beside the headboard of Illya's bed and sat in it. When a person wakes up and sees that they're being watched, they come to their senses sooner. Illya will see him and get up immediately. Then they'll be able to leave and stop exposing themselves to unjustified even if unlikely dangers.

He sure has very long eyelashes! Girls would do anything to have these and he's just lucky. Girls must like him, that's for sure. Or do they see him as brotherlike? Would be interesting to know how they see him. Maybe go with him to a good bar and observe. Maybe even today. If only something would start happening. Soon these beautiful blue eyes will open... Beautiful? For a male, yes. He reads too much and it shows. Well, he's allowed to do that, he's not a girl. Even though he has that something. And still, he looks very masculine. It's impossible to imagine him disguised as a woman. It's all because of his jaw. He's got a strong jaw, well-practiced. Of course, considering his appetite! But he's hardly a good kisser. He always seems to keep his lips tight. But they are quite plush. Would be interesting to have a girl kiss him and then ask her. Maybe she could conduct a comparative analysis. That's a good idea, well worth some consideration.

He needed to smoke. Napoleon took his cigarette case out and produced a cigarette, but then remembered that Illya doesn't like the smell. He went off to the living room, smoked and took his place beside the headboard again.

The first thing Illya saw as he woke up was the ceiling. The second were the calm beautiful big hazel eyes that were closely looking at him. Illya was glad to see them.

"The sleeping beauty is awake. Get up. We need to leave."


End file.
